


Madness Takes Hold

by SorchaCahill



Series: The Adventures of Young Trevelyan [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Addiction, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang 2015, Red Lyrium, Red Templars, fear and mutation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaCahill/pseuds/SorchaCahill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When The Bull's Chargers are sent to Therinfal Redoubt they didn't expect to find much still standing after the rumors that it had been destroyed. What they did find only gave more questions than answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness Takes Hold

_Skin itches. Like bugs crawling underneath. I can feel them there, burrowing, clawing, biting. Can’t escape. Can’t escape. The hunger. It’s there. Alway there. Need burning. Mouth is dry. So thirsty. Water can’t quench the thirst. The need is growing. Ever growing. Want more. Need more._

_Skin burns. Veins are on fire. I can feel it. It’s eating me up from inside. Can’t fight it. So tired. The humming. It’s always there. So loud now. Can’t shut it out. Voices around me. Faceless voices._

_So cold. Shivering, teeth clicking. Bones feel hollow, brittle._

_Is this a dream? No. A nightmare. Never ends. Always here._

_Teeth on my skin. Ripping, gnawing, tearing._

_Blood everywhere. Is it mine?_

_Who am I? What am I? What have I become?_

_The humming is back. Louder now. So loud._

_Please make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop._

_Something’s at the door. Something wants in. It wants in. Can’t stop it._

_It’s here_.

***

Therinfal Redoubt had probably at one time been an impressive fortress, a place where at one point in history the Seekers of Truth had trained. More recently Ferelden’s templars had taken the post. Now it stood as a burnt ruin, its towers collapsed, the main gate crushed, and smoke still rising from the ruins. Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi stood on a hill overlooking the fortress and wondered just what type of force could take such a place.

He was willing to bet two casks of ale that it had something to do with whoever was the same person behind the new breed of templars they were seeing as of late. They hadn’t seen too many of them but enough to know that there was something wrong with them.

“Lieutenant! We found something in the rubble. You need to see this.”

Krem picked his way through the rubble, following the scout as she led him further into the fortress. His skin crawled the deeper they went. Veins of red wove through the stonework, casting an unsettling glow about the fortress. There was something seriously wrong with this place. He wasn’t normally one for hyperbole but this place felt evil.

Bodies of dead templars lay strewn across the courtyard, their faces twisted in pain and a faint reddish hue emanated from their still forms. The scout led him into a side area off the courtyard and when he entered Krem had to force down the bile that rose in his throat. The room held more dead templars but these didn’t die in battle. What had once probably been an infirmary was now a charnel house. Blood pooled under their bodies from where their throats had been cut. These ones looked worse than the ones in the courtyard, like they had been suffering from some advanced form of disease. Whatever it was, Krem hoped it wasn’t contagious. The Chief wouldn’t be too pleased if his Chargers got infected by some unknown contagion.

“Maker’s balls,” Krem muttered as he moved through the room. He crouched next to one of the bodies, looking at it’s wounds. Frowning, he leaned closer. There were red growths on the templars face, they almost looked like some type of jewel and if he didn’t know better he’d say it was lyrium if not for its red color.

“What do you think it is, Lieutenant?” asked the scout, her voice shaking slightly.

“Nothing good, Tarah, nothing good,” he said, standing up, looking over the room. There had to be over two dozens bodies here, all of them in varying stages of the illness they’d had before someone had prematurely ended their lives. He glanced over at Tarah. She looked green but managed to hold it together. Tarah was one of the newer recruits to the Chargers but had proven herself more than once. That she was bothered by what they saw here was somewhat comforting. He’d be concerned about those who weren’t bothered by this.

“You said something about finding something in the rubble?”

“Yes, sorry, it’s back here. This… this just gives me the creeps.”

“Me too,” Krem said, more to himself than to the scout. He followed her further into the darkness, carefully climbing over fallen stonework and more bodies.

“Grimm’s guarding them.”

“Guarding who?”

“The survivors. If you can call them that.”

Krem frowned, not keen on the vagueness of the scout’s answer. Tarah led him up to a door. Several crates and large beams lay to the side of the now open door. It looked like someone had barricaded the door from the outside.

What had they been trying to keep in?

Grimm stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He grunted a greeting as Krem entered the room. It was more of a closet really, barely large enough to hold the two templars that huddled on the floor, only one of them conscious.

“Well, shit.”

“Please, we need help. We had nothing to do with what the Lord Seeker was doing. We didn’t want to take it. Ser Barris, he told us not to, but the others, the others forced us to take it.”

“Take what? What did they force you to take?”

“The lyrium. They forced us to take the lyrium.” The female templar’s face was gaunt as if she hadn’t eaten in days. She bore the same red crystals as several of the other bodies but they glowed, as if they were alive somehow.

“He tried to stop them. Tried to stop it. Not enough of us. Not enough. And now they want me to hurt him. Hurt him. Hurt him.” An agonized wail burst from her as she gripped her hair and pulled, a large chunk ripping away leaving a bloodied scalp. She scrabbled away into the corner when Krem stepped forward to stop her, nonsensical words pouring from her mouth.

Krem glanced down at the unconscious templar and was surprised to recognize him. The Chief had described the Herald’s meeting with the Lord Seeker and his templars in Orlais and how Ser Barris had protested leaving Orlais. This man looked nothing like how the Chief had described him. He was bloodied and bruised but the red glow that seemed to covered the other bodies was absent. There was a large gash on his head, blood streaming down his face. Krem saw that Barris’s armor was torn from neck to abdomen and he wondered what beast could do such a thing.

“Well, shit,” Krem said again. “The Herald should know about this.”

“She’s somewhere in the Hinterlands, Lieutenant. I don’t see how--.”

“We have the Spymaster’s ravens. They can find the Herald. Never seen smarter birds than those ravens.”

“I’ll send one out straight away,” said Tarah before turning around, trying to make it seem as if she wasn’t running away from what was in the room.

Krem looked down again at the two templars. Ser Barris was still unconscious but sweating like he was suffering from a high fever. The female templar was shaking, a mixture of sweat and blood covering her face as she pulled at her hair, knotting the strands between her fingers.

“Where’s Stitches?”

Grimm grunted and jerked his head back toward the way Krem had come in. Krem sighed, wishing that just for once Grimm spoke in more than grunts and monosyllabic sentences. “Can you go get her? And bring Rocky or one of the others back with you. We need to get them out of here. Put them somewhere safe. Or safer anyway.”

Grimm grunted again and slouched out of the room. Krem pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered just what type of shit he had just stepped into.

***

_Mind clearer now. The humming fainter, still here, but softer._

_Voices around me. But they’re soft. Not like the humming. The humming is like knives._

_Can still feel it around me, in me. The need. It burns. Have to fight it. Must fight it. Can’t let it win._

_Can’t let it win._

***

Bríghid Trevelyan looked down at the message Krem had sent, not quite sure what to make of it. They had just made camp for the night when the raven arrived. She pushed her hair out of her face and debated what to do. It was at least a two day ride to Therinfal Redoubt and they still needed to organize the mages to close the Breach but her mind trickled back to that horrible future she had seen when she and Dorian had been pulled through the portal Alexius had created. Seeing the faces of her friends so haggard looking and defeated, the bitterness on Leliana’s face; it had all seemed like a bad dream. Knowing that Cullen had led the Inquisition forces in a fruitless attempt to take Redcliff Castle only to have them all perish made everything worse somehow; a thought she didn’t care to analyze anytime soon.

And then there was this Elder One that Alexius had rambled on about. That worried her more than anything. Perhaps if they went to Therinfal Redoubt they would get more information on just who this Elder One was and what he wanted. Based on what she’d seen, it was the destruction of this world but she refused to let that happen.

She looked down at the message again, reading Krem’s careful handwriting.

> _Your Worship-- Found nothing good here. Lots of bodies and there are signs of demonic activity. We found two survivors but aren’t getting much from them. Would recommend your presence here. Might have some answers on that Elder One you heard about in the future. Perhaps the Herald of Andraste can make sense of it._

Bríghid snorted at that. She hated being called Herald. She hated even more that people assumed that she allegedly had some connection to the Andraste and that gave her some divine insight into what was happening in Thedas. She hated being shoved into a role she never wanted. She had never wanted to be part of the Chantry at all for that matter, but being the third child of a prominent and pious family in Ostwick and no marriage prospects gave her little choice in the matter. She had rebelled against her fate more than once and it had all been for naught. Stepping out of the Fade and having this Maker-damned mark on her hand had taken any choice she’d had away. Permanently.

Sighing, she tucked the note into her jerkin. Looking over at her companions she noted that despite their day filled with fighting bandits and closing rifts they were in relatively good spirits. Dorian had managed to snag some Antivan brandy and was passing it around the fire. Bull was sharpening his axe with what had to be the largest whetstone she’d ever seen, but then the Qunari spy tended to go big or go home. Varric was spinning some wild tale about the Champion of Kirkwall that she was sure only half of it was true. She’d read The Tale of the Champion and in the small amount of time she’d spent with Varric, she’d come to realize that embellishment was his middle name.

She had an inkling their good spirits weren’t going to last once she told them where they were going.

Bull glanced up as she approached, his grin fading a bit when he saw her face.

“What’s up Boss? You look like you swallowed some nug shit.”

“We’re taking a detour before we head back to Haven.”

“A detour? Please tell me it’s someplace warm and not covered in mud.”

“Or underground. Not all dwarfs like caves, you know.”

Bríghid pinched the bridge of her nose. Dorian and Varric were among the more friendly and accepting of her so-called Inner Circle, but Maker did they tend to complain a lot.

“Therinfal Redoubt. Krem seems to think it’s important that I see what happened there.”

“If Krem said so, then it is. He say why?”

“Not in so many words, no, but he thinks there might be some clues as to who this Elder One is.”

“I can’t see your Commander being too happy if we take a detour to the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest on the slim chance we might learn something.”

Bríghid glared at Dorian. “First of all, he’s not _my_ Commander. Second, he’ll just have to get over it. If we push the horses we can get there in maybe two days.” At Varric’s groan, she added sharply, “Look, if you don’t want to come, I’m not going to force you but Krem seems to think this is important and I’m not willing to just let him deal with it because it means more time in the saddle.”

“No offense, Boss, but I’m pretty convinced you were born in the saddle. You forget I’ve seen you race and I’m not completely convinced that horse of yours isn’t some kind of demon but I’m with you, even if my ass gets rubbed raw.”

“Seeing as your skin is as tough as a bogfisher’s hide, I find that hard to believe,” Bríghid shot back, a smirk lifting a corner of her mouth. Of all her companions, Bull was the most irreverent of them, a quality she appreciated more than anyone could guess.

“ _His_ hide may be as tough as a bogfisher’s, but mine certainly isn’t.”

“Would you like me to get you a pillow Dorian? We could also just sling you over Bull’s lap, that way your precious ass can stay in prime condition,” Bríghid said sweetly, the smirk turning into a full out grin.

“Andraste’s ass, I wish there was someway I can prove how crude you can be to Josephine and the others. No one in Haven believes me when I tell them.”

“Come on Sparkler, no one wants to think that the Herald of Andraste tells dirty jokes. It flies in the face of what all those overly-pious souls believe,” said Varric. “What I’d like to know is how a sheltered noble from Ostwick bound for the Chantry has such a foul mouth.”

“You’re welcome to try to find out, Varric, but I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“Never underestimate a determined dwarf, Herald.”

“You can call me Bríghid, you know. No one’s going to smite you.”

“That remains to be seen. I think I’ll play it safe for now.”

“Fine, you do that. In the meantime, get some sleep. We leave at first light for Therinfal Redoubt.”

***

_I can smell them. Blood fresh, clean. No taint._

_They bring light. So bright. Too bright. It hurts. It burns._

_Want the dark. The deep, red dark. I can taste it, smell it. So close but can’t reach. It’s in the stone. Can feel it._

_Teeth chattering. Fingers cramping, clawing, bleeding. The stone is hard. Can’t beat it. Can’t reach the deep, dark red._

_The humming louder again. Can’t think, think, think._

_Want to howl, to scream, wail. Anything to keep the humming out. But it’s too strong. Too strong. Can’t fight it._

_Maybe it’s better to give in_.

***

They had the good fortune of having decent weather on most of the journey but it lasted only until they reached the plateau where the former Seeker fortress stood. It was midafternoon when they arrived, the traditional Ferelden weather greeted them with its usual dampness as they rode up the pathway leading to the gates. Inquisition scouts moved with purpose throughout the courtyard, building a giant pyre. Bríghid wondered at first at its size but then she saw the bodies. Her mind flashed back to when she had been at the Breach and seen the carnage left behind by the explosion but this was worse. At the temple the bodies were burnt beyond recognition, here she could clearly see their faces and the look of horror imprinted on their faces as they had died. It took everything she had to keep her breakfast in her stomach.

Krem met them in the courtyard. His features were drawn tight and his hand clutched the pommel of his sword as if he was expecting an attack. Seeing that, she looked at the others in the courtyard and saw that all of the Inquisition scouts wore the same look. What had happened here?

“You made good time,” he said as they dismounted.

“Your note said it was important. What happened here?”

“Begging your pardon, your Worship, but we’re not really sure. These are, were, seasoned templars but something ran through them like they were wet paper. There’s evidence that some of them were suffering from some type of disease. Stitches can’t make head or tails of it though. Frankly none of us can.”

It was in the back of her head to ask him just what they thought she could do about it but she held her tongue. More and more people were looking to her for answers and though she didn’t like it, she made the best of it. Maker willing they would close the Breach and perhaps then they could figure out how to get the damned mark off her hand.

“You said something about survivors?”

“Yeah,” Krem said, shifting a glance toward Bull. “We have them secluded further back in the keep.”

“Secluded? Are they contagious?”

“Can’t really say, your Worship. Something’s wrong with them though, just don’t know what.”

The Inquisition forces had been busy in the time it took her took her to get to the fortress. There was still evidence that an intense battle had happened here, proof of it was the amount of bodies piled up in the courtyard, but blood still painted the walls and the smell of smoke hung in the air. Krem led them into the fortress, the warrior uncharacteristically silent. Bríghid glanced over at Bull but the giant qunari just shrugged.

To Bríghid’s surprise, Krem didn’t take them to the infirmary but down to the prison cells instead. The hallway was dim, lit only by the occasional wall sconce and a red glow from the walls that turned her stomach. The prison cells were only slightly better. Two Inquisition soldiers stood at the entrance, their bodies tense and their hands ready on their swords. It reminded her of when she herself had been kept in the cells underneath the Chantry in Haven and she had to shake off the still lingering sense of unease that experience had left on her.

The light casted shifting shadows about them as a low keening sound came from one of the cells. At first she couldn’t see anyone in there but she could definitely sense a presence. Taking a cautious step forward, Bríghid peered into one of the cells.

“Uh, Boss, I don’t think that’s-.”

A hand snaked out between the bars, the fingers curled like talons, just missing her face. Bríghid jerked back, startled at the face pushing against the bars. The woman’s face was shrunken with red growths bursting through her skin, covering most of her face and neck. She barely looked human anymore. Keeping her distance, Bríghid looked closer and felt her stomach clench. The templar looked similar to those she had seen in that horrible future she had seen in Redcliff but at a slightly earlier stage. Her hair, what little of it remained, hung in greasy strands over her face.

“Andraste have mercy.”

“We tried to sedate her, Your Worship, but nothing we have is strong enough,” said Stitches the company healer shifting back and forth on his feet.

“Did you try hitting her over the head? That usually works.”

“Bull.”

“I’m just saying Boss, a good whack to the head can work wonders.”

“Not helping Bull. Dorian?”

“Yes, I see it. The same, or similar anyway, as those poor bastards we saw in the future, or what would have been the future if we hadn’t stopped Alexius. This looks like an early stage of the process.”

“Is that… is that red lyrium growing out of her?” Varric’s voice was tight, his hands twitching as if he wanted to pull Bianca out and put the templar in her sights.

“So it would seem.” Bríghid turned to Stitches. “Have we gotten anything useable from her.”

“Not as such. When we first found them, she was mostly lucid. She rambled a lot, but you could understand her. If I didn’t know better I’d say she was infected by the Blight but this is different. Haven’t gotten anything out of the other one. He’s been unconscious since we found them.”

“The other one?”

“Over here.” Stitches led them to another cell. The door on this one was open, a figure lay motionless on the cot. Bríghid stepped into the cell, ignoring the protests from her companions. A lantern sat on a rickety side table, it’s warm light filling the cell. Stepping closer she was startled to see a familiar face. Though it had only been a few weeks since she had last seen him, Ser Barris looked as if he was suffering from some sort of wasting disease. Someone had stripped him down to a pair of loose trousers, a large bandage covered most of his chest, another wrapped around his head. Though the aroma of elfroot permeated the room it couldn’t mask the putrid smell of infection.

“What in Andraste’s name happened here?” Bríghid asked, speaking more to herself than the others.

Her hand sparked as she neared the bed. _Not now_ , Bríghid thought as she shook it off. It only sparked like that when there was an open rift nearby.

Sweat covered Ser Barris and his breathing was labored. She could feel the heat pouring off him even before she lay a hand on his head.

“He lost a lot of blood before I could patch him up,” said Stitches. “He’s also suffering from blood poisoning on top of everything. I’ve done everything I can but the infection went untreated for too long and it’s killing him. His exposure to this red stuff isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making it worse.”

“Is there anything you can do for him?”

Stitches was quiet for a long time before he answered. “I’ve done everything I can think of. It… it might be kinder just to ease his suffering now than let the red stuff kill him.”

“So there’s nothing you can do,” Bríghid asked again.

Bull swore something in Qunlat. “Dammit, Boss, you can’t save everyone. Some you just can’t no matter how much you want to,” he said, looking down at the still form of Ser Barris before glancing in the direction of the other cell where the other Templar was held. “And some are beyond saving and probably shouldn’t be.”

“So I shouldn’t even try? What if our soldiers, what if your Chargers get infected with this stuff? We don’t know how it works. We don’t know anything about it.”

“Before she became, that thing, she ranted about being forced to take it,” said Krem. “Said they were forced to take lyrium, but I’ve never seen lyrium do this to a person before. Even when they’re going through withdrawal.”

“That’s because it’s not normal lyrium. Shit, even being _near_ this stuff makes people go mad. Can you imagine what happens to those who ingest it.” Varric said, shaking his head. “I guess we don’t need to. Better question, is can you imagine a whole army of these things? It’d be a massacre.”

“There has to be some kind of counter agent, some way to combat it,” Bríghid insisted. Her mind flew back to Redcliff and the Red Templars (it seemed a good a name to call them as any) that they had fought. They were monsters, corrupted and twisted. She remembered the faces of her companions, the red lyrium also taking them over. She dreamt about it every night, dreamt about how they had sacrificed themselves so she and Dorian could escape. She now wondered if they hadn’t had another reason for doing so, if they had preferred death over succumbing to the red lyrium.

Bríghid gnawed on her bottom lip. Maybe Bull had a point, maybe both of the Templars were beyond help. Maybe both should just be put out of their misery. She didn’t want Ser Barris to suffer needlessly but if they could learn something that could help…

A wracking coughing broke snapped her out of her inner thoughts. Pink-stained spittle burst from Ser Barris’s lips, spraying the air above him. Bríghid kept a cautious distance, unsure of what to do. Nothing in her experience could have ever prepared her for something like this.

A minute passed and the coughs continued as more blood-stained spit covering his face, his face contorted with pain. It was his unrelieved pain that snapped her into motion. She stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed next to Ser Barris.

“Give me a cloth.”

“Your Worship?”

“Did I stutter? Give me a fucking cloth and some water too,” Bríghid ordered, her temper fraying. She knew what she had to do and she felt a piece of her soul chip off.

Stitches handed her a cloth. Bríghid snatched it out of the healer’s hand and began wiping the spit off of Ser Barris’s face. She had to jerk back when another bout of coughing burst from him. Some of the spit landed on the bandages covering his chest and Bríghid noticed that his coughing had disturbed the wounds underneath as bright red blood pooled underneath the bandages.

As the coughing subsided, Ser Barris’s eyes cracked open. They were glassy at first but once his gaze fell on her they cleared slightly as he recognized her.

“Herald?”

He tried to push himself up in the bed but even the effort to lift his head was too much. Bríghid shushed him as she dipped the cloth in the bowl of water Stitches had provided and wiped the sweat and blood from his brow. His skin was so hot that she wouldn’t have been surprised if the water had sizzled off his skin.

“Yes, Ser Barris, it’s me. Can you tell me what happened? Where is Lord Seeker Lucius?”

Ser Barris opened his mouth to speak but his body seized up and he cried out in pain. Bríghid looked up at Stitches, her gaze hard. “Is there any elfroot left? Anything that can help the pain?”

Stitches nodded wordlessly and backed out the the cell. He returned moments later with a small phial. With Bríghid’s help they eased the templar up enough for Stitches to carefully drip a bit of the potion into his mouth. Bríghid wiped of a bit that dribbled out the side the his mouth before gently laying him back down on the cot and waited for the potion to do its work.

Time seemed to slow to a halt as they waited for the potion to work, but eventually the tightness in Ser Barris’s face loosened. Bríghid took his hand in hers, noting the clamminess, and waited. As much as she needed answers, it wouldn’t do any good to push.

When he opened his eyes again, they were clearer, more focused, their lime-green color showing through.

“Herald,” he said again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I should have, I should have known that it wasn’t the Lord Seeker.” His voice was barely over a whisper, his lips chapped.

“What do you mean? What about the Lord Seeker?”

“It wasn’t him. I should have known, we all should have known. We’re Templars. We’re trained to recognise demons but this one was different.”

“Demons?” Bríghid asked, ignoring Bull’s prolific cursing behind her. “What do you mean? Did demons attack you?”

“Not demons. Just one. There was only one demon and it was the Lord Seeker.”

Now it was Bríghid’s turn to swear. She should have acted faster. Perhaps if she hadn’t taken so much time in Redcliff she couldn’t have prevented this somehow.

As if reading her mind, Ser Barris continued. “You couldn’t have done anything, Herald. It was there before Val Royeaux. Even then it had its claws in us. It went after the senior knights first. It brought the red lyrium, corrupted the upper ranks first.”

“That’s smart,” said Bull. At Bríghid’s confused look, he continued. “You get the superiors hooked and then the rest fall in line. Any who fight back, well, I’m guessing they met an ugly end.”

“Yes, they did. Not many resisted the order. We’re soldiers, used to taking orders. They said it would make us stronger, more capable in fighting mages. Many didn’t even hesitate,” he paused, taking a couple of deep breaths before speaking again. “Can I have some water?”

Bríghid waited as Stitches lifted a cup to Ser Barris’s lips. “Careful now,” warned the healer. “Not too much. You’ve been unconscious for over two days.”

“It feels longer than that. My bones feel hollow.”

“That would be the blood poisoning. You were far gone when we found you. I’m sorry.”

Ser Barris closed his eyes, resting his head back on the pillow. “That’s a better death than the one they had planned for me.” He opened his eyes. “Where is Sylvie?”

Bríghid hesitated, looking down at her hands. She flinched when a wailing screech filled the prison cells. Something banged against the bars in the cell across the room, the thing raging at its confinement.

“I’m sorry.”

Ser Barris stared off into the middle distance, not even seeing here. “She’s only seventeen. Just a recruit. New to the Order. She just underwent her vigil not a month ago.” He turned his gaze back to Bríghid, anger lighting in his eyes. “They forced it down her throat and made me watch. She wasn’t the only one, they did it to all my trainees. I tried to stop them, Maker knows I tried to stop them, but I was already wounded from the fighting and too weak to stop them. It was because I refused to take the red lyrium that they punished them. She was the strongest, the only to survive that filth they poured down their throats. She survived it, but it’s a death sentence. They killed the others outright and then they threw both of us in the storage room, barring the door behind them.

“Those Templars, they were my friends, Your Worship, but once they took that red lyrium they stopped being themselves. They surrendered their souls to it and any who refused were put to the blade.”

His face was so earnest, so in need of understanding, of forgiveness, that it took everything she had not to cry. As horrible as what was happening to the mages, no one deserved this, not even their jailers. Someone was using the Templars, twisting their purpose even further than it already had been.

“This was not your fault, Ser Barris. I’m sure you did everything you possibly could have.”

“It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.” He gripped her hand tightly, his eyes begging, for what she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Your Worship, please, don’t let her suffer like that. Sylvie was good, kind-hearted. She only wanted to help mages, to keep them safe. She doesn’t deserve this. None of us do.”

Bríghid nodded, taking a breath to steady herself. “Ser Barris, can you tell us anything, anything at all as to where the red lyrium is coming from? Do you know who’s behind it?”

“It came in on wagons, and then it just… it just _grew_. I can’t explain it, but it’s like it has a mind of its own.”

“Smart lyrium?” Varric groaned. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Wasn’t it bad enough that this shit drives people mad?”

“Dorian. You’ve been suspiciously quiet.” Bríghid looked at the mage. He stood in the doorway to the cell, his arms crossed over his chest and a bitter look on his face.

“I think we’ve already seen the effects of what happened here and it’s only going to get worse. The Templars we’ve fought recently have been stronger, more determined,” he paused, looking at Bríghid. “More focused on trying to kill you. I think this won’t stop until we find this Elder One and stop him. Templars may have some natural resistance to this stuff due to their abilities and training, but if the average person was exposed to it? I shudder to think of what will happen.”

“You have to stop it, Your Worship. The mage is right. The red lyrium is poison and if left unchecked-.” Loud screeching interrupted Ser Barris, quickly followed by the wrenching of metal being torn apart. Bríghid ordered Krem and Stitches to stay with Ser Barris before she ran out of the cell. She made it into the open area of the prison cells just in time to see Sylvie pry open the prison bars and toss an Inquisition soldier across the room with a careless swipe of her arm. She was easily twice the size she had been not ten minutes ago, her head nearly touching the ceiling. The red lyrium crystals were more prominent now and her skin pulsed with that eerie color of red that indicated advanced infection. Her head was cocked to the side as if she was listening to something.

Bríghid pulled her daggers out, the metal scraping against the scabbards capturing the templar’s attention. She heard her companions behind her, readying their weapons. There wasn’t much room to maneuver in the cell block and she could only hope that they could take down the templar quickly. The infection had gone too far. Ser Barris had been right; once the red lyrium took hold what made a person a person was gone, replaced with rage and a desire to kill everything in sight.

The templar stood still, not ten feet away, swaying slightly back and forth. Her gaze was fixed on Bríghid, her head still cocked to the side as drool dribbled down her chin. Her fingers had elongated into claws, the joints knotted but more articulated than a normal human’s hands. She was hunched over as if in pain but Bríghid sensed that it was more than that. Sylvie’s eyes shifted back and forth, gauging her opponents, a predator ready to strike.

Bríghid gripped her daggers, bracing herself for the attack but the templar just stood there, her eyes vacant and her mouth opening and closing as if she were gasping for air.

“What’s it waiting for? Why doesn’t it attack?” Varric whispered. Bríghid hushed him but it was too late, the thing that was once Sylvie, a soldier of the Templar Order, turned it’s gaze fully on them, it’s eyes focused with purpose.

***

_Humming loud again. No, not humming. It’s the Song. The Song is all I hear. Feel stronger now. The Song has made me strong._

_Cage is gone. No longer confined. No longer trapped. I am free._

_Heartbeats around me. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. I hear their voices through the Song._

_Can smell their fear. The fear feeds me. They fear me. I want them to burn. To feel the fire. To taste the deep, dark red._

_The need is back. Need, need, need. It claws, rips, tears. Teeth on my skin again. Buzzing in my head. Need the deep, dark red._

_Voices. A voice. It pulls me. I see them. Four against me. They think to fight, to kill. But I’m too strong. The red, it feeds me. Makes me strong._

_One stands out. She stands in front. She’s bright, so bright. It’s her._

_I leap_.

***

The creature that once was Sylvie stopped its swaying and turned its head, its unholy gaze focusing on Bríghid. The slight flexing in its legs was the only warning she had as the creature leapt across the room, crossing the ten feet in a single jump. Bríghid dove to the side, feeling the creature’s claws dig into her armor. Spinning around, she switched her grip on her daggers and jumped onto the creature, sinking the blades into its back. It howled and reached up, grabbing one of Bríghid’s arms, yanking her off and throwing her across the room. She crashed into a table, her weight and the force of the creature’s throw causing the brittle wood to crumble underneath her. Grimacing, Bríghid stumbled to her feet, cradling her arm against her. It was most likely dislocated and she could feel blood trickling down her face.

The creature advanced toward her, easily fending off blows from the Inquisition soldiers. Several crossbow bolts stuck out from its skin, making it look like a pincushion but it did nothing to slow it down. Bull struck at it with his axe, crushing one of its arms, but it still wasn’t enough. Bríghid slipped on the stone as she scrambled back when the creature swiped at her, its claws barely missing her face. She felt the subtle buzz of Dorian’s magic as he cast a barrier around her but it wasn’t enough as the creature’s arm smashed through it and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her into the air.

“Kill you. Must kill you.” Its speech was garbled, made difficult by the elongated teeth sprouting from its mouth, but that much was clear. Bríghid gripped the creature’s wrist and tried kicking out at it but it’s skin was too tough and it just shook her violently in response.

She could hear her companions shouting, saw Bull coming up behind the creature, his axe raised. She shook her head at him as much as she could while caught in the creature’s grasp, warning him off. If he struck the creature while it still held her there was a high possibility that it would snap her neck and she preferred to survive this encounter.

“Kill, kill, kill you. Must kill you.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Bríghid said, her voice straining through the creature’s tight grip on her throat.

The creature tilted its head to the side as if confused. Bríghid took advantage, pulling out the small dagger sitting at the small of her back and sank it into the creature’s temple. For one horrible moment Bríghid feared that it wasn’t enough but then the angry red light faded from the creature’s eyes before sinking to its knees, its hand still wrapped around her throat. Bríghid shoved it off her as she stumbled back, falling against the wall, gasping for air.

“You okay, Boss?”

Bríghid looked up, absently rubbing her throat as her companions approached. Bull kicked the creature away as he moved forward, clearing a path for the others.

“I probably need a healer. I think my arm’s dislocated. I wouldn’t say no to some form of alcohol.”

“Healers and alcohol we got,” he said, offering a hand to help her up, something she took gladly. Bríghid looked down at the corpse. It looked no less imposing now that it was dead and now that she had been treated to what these Red Templars could do she knew to keep her distance when fighting them.

Looking up at Bull and then at the rest of her companions she tried to gauge their response to this new problem. She saw determination, anger, and worry; three emotions she couldn’t disagree with. She looked down at the corpse again and when she raised her head and spoke her voice was quiet but sheathed in steel.

“We must stop this. This madness cannot be allowed to take hold of more Templars. We have to stop it.”

“We will, Boss, we will. No doubt about it.”

Bríghid nodded stiffly as she passed through them and toward the exit. She saw Ser Barris as she passed his cell. He was trying to sit up despite protests from both Stitches and Krem. The look of devastation on his face tore at her and she knew that another person was added to the list of people she couldn’t save.

She could feel tears burning in her eyes and fought to keep them back. She would cry later, where no one could see it. As much as she hated the role that had been thrust upon her, she knew it wouldn’t do any good for people to see the Herald of Andraste cry.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2015 Dragon Age reverse Big Bang based on the playlist by janiemcpants on tumblr. It's called Red Lyrium and you can find it [here](http://8tracks.com/janiejanine/inevitable).


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